The Candy House(87)

Bosco… Lord is he still kicking? Seems the Suicide Tour was really a longevity tour! Glad to be involved and timing good… we are just finishing our semesters.

More soon, Alex


Alex Applebaum→Bosco Baines Dear Bosco (if I may):

I teach Sound Analytics at Queens College and am a longtime collaborator of Bennie Salazar’s, starting with Scotty Hausmann’s Footprint Concert fourteen years ago. Bennie mentioned that you may be re-recording some Conduits classics acoustically and I begged to be involved. I play serviceable piano and guitar and would be honored to work with you in any way that might be helpful.

Your fan, Alex


Bosco→Alex

Good timing. Would love your help. Voice a bit wonky, must confess.


Jules Jones→Ames Hollander VIA MONDRIAN

I’ve resigned myself to bringing our friend to your clinic next week, but how?? She has 8-month-old twins and distrusts babysitters. I am afraid of infants, which are unpredictable and do not like me.

JJ


Ames→Jules VIA MONDRIAN

Is there someone you trust unconditionally who could come along and help with the babies? Ideally a person with children?


Jules→Ames VIA MONDRIAN

Two options: My friend Noreen, a little unstable but a hyper-involved grandma of many. Or my sister Stephanie, rock solid but grandma to just one, far away.


Ames→Jules VIA MONDRIAN

Let’s go with Stephanie.


Alex Applebaum→Bennie Salazar Dear Bennie,

I made time this weekend to visit Bosco before he changed his mind. He lives on a small dairy farm (beautiful yellow cows with long curved horns). I didn’t recognize him—he is thin, I kid you not, and extremely fit! Showed me his weightlifting setup in an old barn. He looks more like Bosco of yore than at any time since 2000 (albeit with wrinkles and silver hair).

Here’s the oddball part: his voice is higher than before. It has a scratchy texture (polyps I’m guessing) that I’ve come to feel adds some depth to the quasi-falsetto of his singing.

Summary: Looks great, moves well, voice a bit high but I think we can work with it. Recording link below.

Alex


Bennie→Alex

Quasi-falsetto? What the hell? Listening now.





7


Stephanie Salazar→Bennie Salazar

B,

I’m not sure what it says about my life that the only person who will appreciate the day I’ve just had is the one I divorced almost thirty years ago. Not gonna worry about it, too eager to spill.

Jules messages me asking if I’ll meet him in lower Manhattan in a couple of days to help him with “a project.” It’s urgent, but nothing is wrong. He’s been working on his new book and in good health (down 15 lbs!), so I agree, no questions asked.

Two mornings later, he meets me outside an apartment building in Tribeca in a cold sweat: gray face, collar soaked. I say Jules, do we need to go to the hospital? He says no, everything is fine, he’s just anxious. Tells me the next couple of hours will seem strange, but there’s nothing wrong. Oh, and my job is going to be minding a pair of 8-month-old twins!

We go inside the building and ride up in an elevator. Jules opens the apartment door and I find a beautiful boy and girl buckled into a double stroller, just starting to whimper. There are some toys around, so I drop to the floor and start shaking a rattle and they quiet down. Meanwhile Jules goes into another room and comes back leading by the hand (out of sight of the babies) a woman with a black hood covering her entire head and one arm in a sling! She seems calm and even waves to me with her good arm, which is the only reason I don’t call 911.

Jules motions for me to lead the way out of the apartment with the stroller. He’s ordered a car with two infant seats. The hooded woman stays out of sight until I’ve buckled in the babies. Then she slips into the front seat wearing a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, so the hood just looks like a face mask. No one says a word. The twins fuss a little at first, but some rattling from me distracts them.

We pull up outside a seedy bar near Penn Station. I can hear Jules wheezing like he’s having a panic attack. I buckle the twins back into their stroller and Jules motions for me to lead the way into this crappy bar. I’m thinking this can’t be right, but the bartender catches my eye and jerks his chin toward the back. I roll the stroller toward a grimy, crusty door that I’m assuming will lead into a biohazardous restroom, I can almost smell it, but I brace myself against the door and push it open.

Then it’s like we’ve gone through a portal in one of Chris’s old video games: We’re inside a medical clinic and a buff military-looking guy in a surgical mask greets us in friendly silence. We follow him into a room that’s totally dark except for a glowing purple ring in the middle of the floor. I’m trying to interpret this scene: Is it a game? A performance? A test? But Jules is morbidly serious and no one says a word, so I keep quiet and roll with it.

Jules and I sit on a bench against the wall with the stroller. The twins are mesmerized by the purple ring. The military guy leads the hooded woman into the center of this ring and takes off her sunglasses and hat, but leaves on the hood. Then he disappears. I hear a humming sound and a mechanical arm begins to raise the ring slowly up from the floor. It moves from the woman’s feet over her shins, her thighs, her hips, her torso, and finally her head. The purple light has a stupefying effect; the twins fall asleep instantly and I feel Jules slump against me and I’m sort of entranced, I guess, just staring at that purple light.